


Like French Vanilla Ice Cream

by GotTheSilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Music Store, First Time, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2466347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hale Sounds, Open 'til Midnight.</p>
<p>An Empire Records AU.</p>
<p>
  <i>“Well, maybe you should sort out your own love life before looking at mine.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I don’t have a love life.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“That’s the point I was making,” Erica responds in a tone of voice that suggests she thinks Derek is stupid.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like French Vanilla Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

> [soundtrack on 8tracks](http://8tracks.com/gotthesilver/like-french-vanilla-ice-cream)
> 
> This is a vague Empire Records AU, and you really don't have to have seen the movie to read it. If you haven't seen the movie, then all you need to know is that it (and this fic) is set in the mid nineties. Also, go and watch the movie.

“Veto,” Derek says as he presses the eject button on the sound system. “Veto, veto, veto.”

“Dude!” Scott exclaims, leaning over the counter, hair flopping over his face. “That was my song.”

Derek ignores him as he takes out the CD, contemplating snapping it into pieces so he never has to hear it again. “You know the rules, Scott. I’m using my veto.”

“Why do you only use your veto on my choices?”

“Because you’re the only one whose music taste makes me want to smack my head against a wall, and I prefer not to cause myself bodily injury where I work,” Derek responds, hiding a smirk as the opening riff of Whole Lotta Love hits and Scott stomps off in protest.

“Yo,” Stiles calls as he walks on to the shop floor. “What’s with the dad rock?”

“Zeppelin is classic,” Derek points out as Stiles joins him behind the counter. “And it’s better than what you listen to.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek as he walks past; grabbing a handful of promotional stickers from beside the register he starts sticking them on the counter in a haphazard pattern. “There’s nothing wrong with what I listen to.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Grump,” Stiles says, sticking a Roadrunner Records sticker on Derek’s back. “Just because I listen to bands post 1980 doesn’t mean my music taste is awful. Also, weren’t you the one who knew all the words to Every Rose Has It’s Thorn at the last karaoke night?”

Derek pauses in his efforts to get the sticker off and aims a glare at Stiles. “We agreed never to talk about that again.”

“No, everyone else agreed. I made a vague noise that no lawyer would ever take as agreement.” Stiles leans against the counter and eyes Derek. “Where’s Matt? Isn’t he meant to be on shift today?”

“He quit.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yep.” Derek shrugs, giving up on getting the sticker off. Tugging his shirt sleeves over his palms, he reaches for his mug of coffee and takes a sip.

“Turn around,” Stiles says after a moment, his face softening. “Sorry you had to come in on your day off.”

“Peter calls, I answer,” Derek responds as he turns around.

“Done,” Stiles says, crumpling up the sticker in his hand and dropping it on the counter. “Now, Peter, talk about a man who doesn’t know music. I actually think his house is soundtracked by white noise.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Derek says. “What are you doing here anyway?” Derek turns around to face Stiles, his coffee mug still in his hands as he looks Stiles over, trying not to be too obvious about it. “Your shift isn’t until later.”

“Dad’s at work and the house is too quiet, figured I’d get some studying done in the office if that’s okay?” Stiles brandishes his books and deliberately widens his eyes at Derek. “Please?”

Derek groans inwardly, hoping Stiles never works out just how much he could get away with even without the wide eyes. “Don’t let Scott distract you,” Derek says as he gives in, shaking his head when Stiles flips him off and walks away. “Erica,” he calls out once Stiles vanishes through the doors. “Did Lydia close last night?”

Erica swings by the counter and nods, chewing on her strawberry gum. “Yeah, why? Something wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek says, picking up discarded old flyers and dumping them in the trash. “Let me know when she gets here?”

“Sure,” she says, popping her gum. Erica leans on the counter and grins at Derek. “You ready for Jackson Whittemore day?”

“I’m ecstatic,” Derek says flatly.

“Just try not to punch him.”

“No promises,” Derek says, walking out from behind the counter and gesturing for Erica to take over. “If you see Lydia —”

“Tell you she’s here, I get it boss.”

“I’m not your boss,” Derek yells over his shoulder as he walks off in the direction of the office. When he gets there, Stiles has his feet up on Derek’s desk, he head buried in a textbook. “Down,” Derek says with a glare.

“Am I a dog?” Stiles asks, not looking up from his book. His hair is mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it, and Derek looks away in an effort to not think about his own hands touching it.

“If you were, I’d at least be able to train you,” he says eventually. Grabbing Stiles’ feet, Derek holds them up at an angle that threatens to tip Stiles over.

“Hey!” Stiles exclaims, looking up as his textbook falls to the floor, his arms flailing around. “Don’t do that!”

“Then get out of my chair.”

“You have a perfectly good chair right there.”

Derek sighs, lets go of Stiles’ feet and sits in the chair on the other side of the desk, resting his arms on the desk. He watches Stiles reach down for his textbook, trying so hard not to notice the elegant curve of Stiles’ neck; there’s no way that Derek should be thinking about any of this, especially not while Stiles _works_ for him; Derek shifts uncomfortably in his chair, willing for something else to happen.

“So what’s going on with Lydia?”

“Huh?” Derek’s startled out of his thoughts and looks up, meeting Stiles’ eyes. “I — it’s complicated. I’m not entirely sure yet.”

“Lydia closed last night, right?”

Derek nods, picking up a pile of loose CDs and starts working on putting them back in the right cases. “She wanted to.”

“That’s not normal.”

“It’s Lydia.”

Stiles closes his sociology textbook and leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Did she steal the money?”

“The money isn’t there.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“Have you told Peter?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“He has a soft spot for her,” Stiles says with a shrug. “Maybe it’ll be okay.”

“And maybe Kurt Cobain will be back amongst the living.”

“Don’t invoke Kurt, that still hurts, okay?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I thought you were here to study?”

Stiles pokes out his tongue, pointedly picking up his textbook and waving it at Derek. “And I was, before someone distracted me.”

“You’re the one who wanted to study here.”

“Well,” Stiles says quietly, putting his textbook on the desk and opening it. “There’s a good view.”

Derek gets up and sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s quiet for a moment and glances down at Stiles before looking out the window at the dock outside. “Don’t spend too long staring out at the lake,” he says eventually.

“Huh?”

“The view,” Derek says, looking back at Stiles. “Don’t let it distract you.”

“Oh, the lake. Yeah, sure.” Stiles shakes his head and looks back down at his book. “That’s the view I meant.”

*

Derek’s flicking through the latest issue of Spin when Erica pokes her head around the door. “Uh, boss?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Whatever. Lydia’s here,” she says, wrinkling her nose at Derek and closing the door behind her.

Derek immediately drops the magazine; it knocks over a pile of CDs and sends them sprawling across the desk.

“Hey!” Stiles protests as the CDs land on his notebook. “Derek, seriously, tidy your desk.”

“Sorry, I just — Lydia’s out there.”

“Then go and see her.”

“If I don’t ask her what happened, then I don’t have to deal with the answer.”

Stiles slumps down and nudges Derek’s foot with his own, offering Derek a smile. “Fearless leader time, Derek. Get to it.”

Letting out a small groan, Derek starts to wonder why he can’t sit in the office and hide away with Stiles forever, but since that’s apparently not an option, he stands up, rolls his shoulders and heads out.

He finds Lydia lurking by the door to the break room. Pushing open the doors, he taps her on the shoulder and raises an eyebrow at her. “Lydia.”

Lydia startles, turning around and standing still. “I — hi Derek.”

“Where’s the money, Lydia?”

“It’s a funny story —”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

Shrugging and walking into the break room, Lydia raises her eyebrows at him. “Well, I haven’t told the story yet.”

“Sit,” Derek says, pointing to the animal print couch. “Explain.”

“Music Town,” Lydia says as she sits down.

“How did you —” Sighing, Derek rubs a hand over his face and sinks on to the couch. “Who else knows?”

“No one. I figured. Look, I went to Vegas and tried my hand in the casinos.”

“Seriously?”

Lydia makes a face, tucking her legs underneath her and fixing Derek with a look. “I’m a genius, Derek, I didn’t think it would be hard.”

“You lost the money, didn’t you?”

“Well...”

Derek tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling, and contemplates all the ways in which his life would’ve been different if his parents never died; if Peter wasn’t the one on the ownership papers of the store. He definitely wouldn’t be thinking about changing his name and running away with Stiles. Derek’s pretty sure Stiles would come with him. Probably.

Lydia touches his arm, breaking him out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry, Derek. I didn’t mean to fuck this up. I really thought I was going to win enough so it wouldn’t have to happen.”

“It wasn’t going to happen,” Derek says softly, still staring at the ceiling. “I had saved enough to make Peter an offer, but now I’m going to have to use what I had to replace the money you lost.”

“Fuck,” Lydia swears quietly. “I didn’t —”

“Forget it.”

“I could call my dad,” Lydia says tentatively. “Tell him I want a record store.”

Choking out a laugh, Derek looks over at Lydia and shakes his head. “No. I — call it dumb pride, but I owe it to my parents to keep it in the family.”

“What about your sisters?”

“No.”

“You could all club together and —”

“No, Lydia. Cora’s still studying and Laura’s got a kid. Asking them for money... it’s not fair to them.”

“The offer stands, okay? If you want it. Dad’s still trying to buy me off after the divorce.” Lydia looks around the room and purses her lips. “You can’t say that _me_ owning this place would be worse than Music Town owning it.”

“The store is mine, end of discussion. You’re staying here until you come up with an idea for getting my money back that doesn’t involve your dad,” Derek says, getting off the couch and glaring at Lydia. “Got it?”

“Derek! I have things to do.”

“You’re a genius,” Derek says, looking down at her. “It shouldn’t take you long.”

Suddenly yelling comes from the shop floor and Derek turns around, his brow furrowing. “What the fuck is going on now?” Leaving Lydia on the couch, Derek pushes open the doors to the shop floor and takes in the scene before him; Erica’s got her arms wrapped around a screaming young girl, and Derek rolls his eyes, resting his hands on his hips. “Explain?”

“Jackson fan,” Erica grunts as she drags the girl to the door. “Got real mad when I said he wasn’t here yet.”

Derek blinks and watches as Erica hauls the crying girl out of the door. “I don’t get it,” he says to no one in particular. “I really don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Stiles asks from behind him, resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder and peeking at the girl being dragged out. “Hormones, dude.”

“I thought you were studying,” Derek says, his neck heating up as Stiles rubs his head against Derek’s cheek.

“Taking a break,” Stiles says as he moves away and walks over to the punk vinyl, pulling out a copy of ...And Out Come The Wolves. “I don’t own this on vinyl,” he says with a frown at Derek. “That seems so wrong.”

“I despair at your music taste.”

“Rancid are incredible, so you can shut up,” Stiles says, putting the record back and sticking his hands in his pockets, raising his eyebrows at Derek.

“Quite the argument,” Derek responds, smirking when Stiles sticks his tongue out at him. “You want lunch?”

“Allison’s bringing us food.”

“I meant you and me getting — forget it.” Shaking his head, Derek turns to walk back towards the office, only stopping when Stiles grabs his arm.

“Where are you going?” Stiles says, his eyes narrowing. “What did I do?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Did you — were you asking me to lunch? Just you and me?” Stiles’ voice is soft like he doesn’t quite believe what Derek’s asking him, and Derek doesn’t know how to work with that.

“Stiles, forget it, really.” Derek leans against the wall and tries to avoid Stiles’ gaze. He doesn’t really have anywhere to go to get away from him, and part of him wishes he could turn back time so he could change ever having said anything.

“Why do you think I wouldn’t want to get lunch with you?”

“You said Allison’s bringing you food.”

“So? More for everyone else.” Stiles threads his arm through Derek’s and pulls him along. “C’mon, lets go and get lunch.”

They pass Erica coming back into the store as they’re leaving, and Derek rolls his eyes at the look she gives him. “Make sure Lydia doesn’t leave,” he says, in an attempt to head off anything she has to say.

“No problem, boss.”

“Not your boss!”

*

“So what’s going on?” Stiles asks as soon as they’re settled in a booth with milkshakes in front of them. “With Lydia? What did she do?”

“She thought she was doing the right thing.”

“Which was?” Stiles makes a face, whining a little. “C’mon, I’m dying here.”

“Peter wants to sell the store.”

“To you?”

Derek sits back in the booth and ducks his head. “To Music Town.”

“What the fuck?” Stiles shouts, waving an arm so violently he almost knocks over his shake. “You can’t let him do that! Music Town will fire _all_ of us.”

“I know,” Derek says calmly, reaching over and steadying Stiles’ shake. “I’d saved enough money to buy Peter out, to own the store —”

“Then we’re all good?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Lydia found the Music Town plans, took the money from last night, went to Vegas and lost it all.” Derek fiddles with the straw wrapper on the table, avoiding Stiles’ eyes. “I’ve got to use my money to replace what she lost.”

“Shit.”

“Yep.”

Stiles is silent after that, which is strange, even when Stiles studies, he hums under his breath, taps his foot against the floor. Derek’s used to Stiles making some kind of sound, whatever it is he’s doing.

“Hey,” Derek says, nudging his foot against Stiles’ under the table when he notices he’s not touching the cheeseburger deluxe platter the waitress has placed in front of him. “Eat.”

“What?” Stiles looks up and blinks. “Oh. Yeah.”

“You don’t have to worry, you’ll get another job.”

“But not with you — not with Scott, Erica, Lydia...” Stiles drifts off and shrugs. “This sucks.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Derek says, grabbing a handful of fries. “My parents — I grew up in the store, learnt how to handle records before I could talk properly. I don’t want to lose this.”

“Have you tried talking to Peter?”

“He wants to sell. He doesn’t much care who to.”

“Asshole.”

Smirking in acknowledgement, Derek picks up his burger and bites into it. Nodding at Stiles, he glares at him pointedly until Stiles gives in and picks up his own burger. “Starving yourself isn’t going to stop Peter,” Derek points out after he swallows. “And it’s my treat.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Stiles says, gesturing with an onion ring. “You need your money to buy out Peter.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“So very optimistic.” Stiles leans back in the booth and stares up at the ceiling. “Fuck,” he exclaims, rubbing his fingers against the edge of the table. “A Music Town?” he shakes his head at Derek and sighs. “No one needs a Music Town. Soulless, homogenised, fun sucking hellholes. No wonder Peter likes the idea, it sounds exactly like the kind of place he belongs.”

“Please tell him that.”

“I will,” Stiles says with a grin. “I totally will. You _know_ I will.”

“Just —” Derek pauses, glancing at Stiles.

“What?”

“Do it after I’ve told him about the money?”

“Derek, I —”

“Parting shot, okay?” Derek meets Stiles’ eyes and shrugs. “Saying goodbye to the store is going to be hard enough, I’ll need something to make me smile.”

“Yeah. I can do that,” Stiles says, giving Derek a small smile before returning to his meal. Derek takes his lead and polishes off his burger, picking at the remainder of his fries until Stiles makes a pleading face at him and Derek laughs, pushing his plate towards Stiles’ side of the booth. “My hero,” Stiles says, stuffing the fries in his mouth. “Keeping me from starving.”

“You’re easily pleased.”

“You please me,” Stiles says, his cheeks pinking up. “Easily.”

“I —”

“So, when’s Boyd coming in?” Stiles steamrolls over anything Derek would’ve said in response and Derek’s somewhat grateful for that, not entirely convinced about what words would’ve come out of his mouth.

“Uh, I’m hoping he’ll be there when we get back.”

“Is he okay?”

Derek shrugs, digging his wallet out to pay for the meal. “I know he and Erica got into it.”

“Again? They’ll break up the band if they screw this up.”

“They’ll be fine,” Derek says, throwing some money down and sliding out of the booth, waiting for Stiles. “You know what they’re like, they’ll have made up before the end of the day.”

“Think they’ll still play together if they don’t make up?”

“Why?”

“I’m concerned about my friends,” Stiles says, getting out of the booth and slinging his jacket over his shoulder.

“I know that look on your face. You’re planning something.”

“I’m not —” Stiles pauses and sighs. “Well, maybe. Local news is broadcasting live from the store tonight, right? Because of Jackson?”

“Local boy becoming world famous is a story.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek says, holding the door open as they step out onto the sidewalk. “It’s a yes.”

“Good to know.”

Derek’s absolutely sure he doesn’t want to know what Stiles is planning; if he doesn’t know, he can deny ever knowing about anything later.

*

Derek’s blasted by loud guitars when he walks back into the store, Stiles following behind him. The sound isn’t exactly unusual for the store, but Derek — he’s tired. Hates that he can see everyone dancing, laughing, enjoying the store the way it’s meant to be enjoyed. The way his parents always enjoyed it. Hates that this isn’t what it’ll be like after Peter sells. Hates that he’s on the verge of losing the only thing his parents left him.

Stalking off to the office, he slams through the doors and grabs a stack of papers, brushing past Stiles on his way back out to the shop floor. “You all having fun?” he asks, switching the music off, not relishing the way everyone stops and stares at him.

Erica turns towards him, dropping the hand of the customer she’d been dancing with. “Derek, what are you —”

“Hand these out,” Derek says, shoving the papers at Scott and leaning against the wall.

“Music Town?” Erica exclaims, her nose wrinkling as she reads over the leaflet. “What the —”

“Why are we becoming a Music Town?” Scott asks, fingers unconsciously rubbing the tattoos on his arms. “We’re all going to be fired, Derek. None of us are the people Music Town employs.”

“I know that,” Derek says, folding his arms over his chest, deliberately trying not to lean into Stiles as he stands next to him. “You think I want to do this? I don’t. Peter wants to sell the store and I’ve got no say in that.”

“Tell them about your plan,” Stiles interjects, touching Derek on the arm. “Go on.”

“There’s no point.”

“What’s your plan?” Scott asks, leaning against the counter, his eyebrows raised.

Derek spots Lydia coming out of the office, holding a cushion from the couch in her arms. She raises an eyebrow at him in a challenge and he shakes his head, too beat down to argue with her. The customers have all gone back to browsing, so Derek gestures the staff over. Stiles hops up and sits on the counter, pressing his knee against Derek’s shoulder. “Tell them,” he says quietly, giving Derek a reassuring smile.

“I — look, I had enough money to buy the store from Peter, and I was going to do it, but I’ve got to use it to replace the money Lydia took to Vegas last night.”

“So we’re going to be a Music Town _and_ we have to put up with Jackson?” Erica grimaces, wrapping her arms around herself and poking her lip ring with the tip of her tongue. “This day sucks.”

“Agreed,” Scott says, staring at the floor, scuffing his sneakers against the tile. “It blows.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “This wasn’t meant to be the end of the store.”

Stiles presses a hand to Derek’s shoulder and squeezes. “Derek, no one blames you. If we’re blaming anyone, we should be blaming Lydia. Or Peter. Can we blame Peter?”

“No one’s blaming anyone, okay? Well, maybe Peter.” Derek turns his head and looks up at Stiles, taking comfort in the small smile Stiles gives him. “We’ll get through today and see what happens.”

“Uh, guys?” Allison peeks over the counter, a furrow on her forehead as she looks at everyone’s faces. “Why’s everyone so upset?”

Scott pushes past Erica and leans over the counter, smiling at Allison. “I’ll tell you later. Did you bring food?”

“Yes, Scott, I brought food.”

“Sweet! I’m taking my break,” Scott says, hopping over the counter and narrowly avoiding kicking the register.

“One day you’re going to crack your head open doing that,” Derek calls after him in exasperation.

“So what are we going to do?” Erica asks, braiding the ends of her hair. “About the store?”

“I have an idea.” Stiles leans an arm on Derek’s shoulder and waggles his eyebrows at Erica. “If you can call your boyfriend.”

“You want me to call Boyd?”

“Uh, yes?”

“No.”

“Erica!”

“Not doing it, Stiles. Find a new idea,” she says, walking away with her lips pressed together.

“Well. That worked.”

Stiles is still leaning on Derek’s shoulder, his forearm brushing against Derek’s neck, and Derek can’t turn around because then he’ll be too close to Stiles’ face and that — this isn’t the time for Derek to indulge himself in whatever this could be; so he stands there, not wanting to walk away from Stiles resting on him. Derek admits this might be a problem.

The phone rings, and Derek takes the excuse to move away from Stiles. “Hale Sounds, open ‘til midnight, this is Derek. Midnight. We’re open until midnight.”

*

Derek’s in the office, blaring AC/DC and trying to ignore everything that isn’t Brian Johnson’s vocals, something that’s made harder when Scott walks into the room. “What do you want, Scott?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“About?” Derek asks, turning down the music slightly.

“Love.”

Looking up, Derek raises an eyebrow at Scott. “You want to ask _me_ about love?”

“Sure,” Scott says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Why?”

“Because you seem like you know stuff,” Scott shrugs, pacing around in front of Derek’s desk. “About love and things.”

“The one person I would date is both younger than me, and works for me, and you think I know about love?”

“Yeah! Like, we all know you love Stiles and —”

“I thought we were talking about you,” Derek interrupts, regretting ever saying anything, and really not wanting to know what his entire staff thinks about his love life.

“Yeah, okay. So, Allison. I love her, dude.”

“That’s great,” Derek replies absently, going over the schedule for next week. It’s ridiculous busy work because Derek doesn’t even know if they’ll be open next week, and if they are, it’s not likely anyone he knows will still be employed.

“I need to tell her.”

“That would help.”

“She brought me food, Derek. She brings me an extra brownie every day when I’m working. She’s _perfect_.”

“No one’s perfect, Scott.”

“She listens to Primus, Derek. She’s perfect.”

Derek looks up at that and rolls his eyes at Scott. “Stop telling me about your terrible music taste. What do you want?”

“I have to tell her I love her.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“How do I do it?”

“You say ‘I love you’,” Derek says flatly. “What more do you need?”

“But how?”

“With words.”

“What kind of words?” Scott says with a groan. “Allison’s special, she —”

“Yo, Derek.” Isaac sticks his head in the door and looks around the room. “Jackson’s almost here.”

“When did you get here?” Derek asks, leaning over and reluctantly switching the music off.

“Just now, I saw his car pulling in when I locked my bike up.”

“Great. Just... great.” Pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, Derek sighs. “Scott, words. Use them. I don’t care what ones. Isaac, find Boyd and get him here. He’s late and I don’t want to deal with Jackson’s fans alone.”

“Got it,” Isaac says before ducking out.

“You okay, Derek?” Scott stands by the door and frowns at Derek, tapping his fingers against the doorframe. “Aside from the shop and everything.”

“Yeah, Scott,” Derek says, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll be fine. Go, find Allison. Do some work.”

*

“Still working here, McCall?”

“Still making little girls cry, Whittemore?”

“They love me,” Jackson says, adjusting his sunglasses and folding his arms over his chest. “Who loves you?”

“Jesus, will you both stop already,” Erica says, stomping into the back room and throwing a sharpie at Jackson. “No one wants you here, Jackson.”

“There’s a couple hundred fans outside your little shop who think otherwise.”

Erica smirks at him, toying with another sharpie. “They’ll grow out of it. You’ll always be a dick, though.”

“A dick you’ll never get your hands on.”

“Like I’d want to, I might catch something.”

Derek rubs his temples, wondering if there’s Advil in his office. “Can all of you shut up? Where’s Lydia? I told her to stay here until she fixed this.”

“She left to go somewhere with Stiles,” Isaac says, rooting through the pile of promotional items on the desk. “Has anyone called dibs on this Korn poster?”

“You’re the only one who likes them so, no. Where did Stiles go?”

“Awesome.” Isaac rolls the poster up and puts it in his box. “And I don’t know. Boyd went with them.”

“Boyd went —” Derek huffs and looks at the ceiling. “Boyd is meant to be here to help me deal with all the people here because of _him_ coming back to town.”

Jackson looks over at Derek and snorts dismissively. “Don’t blame me for your failure to manage your staff.”

“Why do we even have to have him here?” Erica asks. “We’re an actual record store. He mimes to a backing track.”

“We’re the only record store in town, Erica, you know that,” Derek responds, glancing over at her.

“I can play Hole while he’s signing his crap, right? Try and expose these kids to something better than his drivel.”

“What?” Jackson yelps, whipping his sunglasses off. “She can’t do that, you can’t do that.”

Derek shrugs, smiling at Erica. “Why not? His contract didn’t say anything about playing his music while he scrawls on things.”

“I really hate this town,” Jackson mutters, sitting on the stool by the sink.

“You came back here,” Scott says around the brownie he’s eating. “You didn’t have to.”

“We all have to do things we hate for work.”

“Is that Jackson admitting he has no power?” Erica asks, looking around the room. “Because I think he just admitted he has no power.”

Derek’s just about to suggest Jackson go and wait in his car until they’re ready, but then Stiles, Boyd, and Lydia all come piling through the door. “Where have you been?”

“Fixing things,” Stiles says with a shrug, sitting on the back of the couch, his feet resting on the cushions. “You said you didn’t want to know.”

“You’re right, I don’t want to know. Boyd, try and make sure no one claws Jackson to death. Lydia, sit in here and try not to lose any more of my money; Stiles, you’re on publicity duty, keep them away from me and don’t let Erica say anything live.” There’s a glint in Stiles’ eyes that Derek’s quite sure he doesn’t want to know the meaning of and Derek waves a hand. “Everyone else, do some work. Someone go and help Allison, she’s out there alone.”

“I’ll go!”

Derek watches as Scott almost trips over his feet to join Allison on the counter. “Don’t hurt yourself, we’re not insured for dumbass injuries,” he yells after Scott, shaking his head when Scott salutes at him on his way to the shop floor. “What are the rest of you waiting for? Get to work.”

Heading to the office, Derek knows Stiles is following him, and doesn’t say a word about it until Stiles closes the door behind him. “You have things to do,” Derek says, eyeing Stiles as he sits down, sighing heavily. “Go and do them.”

“You’re stressed.”

“Really? What gave it away?”

Stiles snorts and walks over to Derek’s desk, pulling open a drawer. “Here,” he says, pulling out a bottle of Advil and handing it to Derek. “I stashed them there the last time Peter checked in on the store.”

“You’re —”

“I know,” Stiles interrupts. “I’m the best, and one day I’ll get you to admit you love Poison.”

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles and pops the Advil in his mouth, swigging from the bottle of water on his desk. “I’ll agree with the first half of that statement. Go do some work, please?”

“Because you asked nicely, I’ll go and round up the press.” Stiles turns for a moment and then switches the television on, switching it to local news. “You should watch.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s your store.”

“That’s never going to be true.”

Stiles pauses by the door and leans against the frame, looking at Derek. “Don’t say that. Until Peter’s forcing orange uniforms on everyone, there’s always a chance.”

*

When Derek comes out of the office, he looks around and sees Jackson still on the stool in the corner. “Why aren’t you out there?”

“Because I have my own schedule and it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“It’s my store.”

“Not the way I hear it,” Jackson says with a smirk and Derek’s only just resisting punching him in the face.

“If you’re not out there signing things in the next 30 minutes, I’m throwing you out of my store.” Derek pushes the doors to the shop floor open and stands there for a moment, listening to the music playing, watching the customers making choices about what their next purchase will be.

If he closes his eyes he can see Laura with her walkman on, dancing in the aisles as his parents unpacked stock; can feel the gloom that permeated the store after Lennon was murdered, how his parents had sat them all down the morning it hit the news, Cora still a baby, and explained what had happened. It had felt like the world was in mourning, and his parents hadn’t been an exception.

Derek can see the birthday parties they held here — a record store so much more exciting than their house — making mixtapes with his friends and making clocks out of scratched records. He swallows around the lump in his throat and walks towards the listening booths, stopping when he spots Erica with a bunch of papers, sitting on the floor. Knocking on the glass, Derek raises an eyebrow until Erica nods, and he opens the door, crouching down to be on her level.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “You okay in here?”

She nods, looking down at the papers and making a note of something. “Making a dent in the sale or return stock take.”

“That wasn’t what I — you and Boyd, are you okay?”

“Derek,” Erica says, looking up with a small smirk on her face. “Are you trying to give me advice on my love life?”

“Maybe?”

“Well, maybe you should sort out your own love life before looking at mine.”

“I don’t have a love life.”

“That’s the point I was making,” Erica responds in a tone of voice that suggests she thinks Derek is stupid. “You could, if you wanted. He likes you. More than likes.”

“I don’t know why you’re talking about,” Derek says, straightening up, wincing at the stiffness in his knees. “When you’re done, there’s a shipment of tapes in the stockroom from Sub-Pop to be gone through. Y’know, if you still want to avoid Boyd.”

Erica flips him off as he closes the door to the booth; Derek walks away, looking at the line of people already in the store to meet Jackson. Isaac’s put a chair and table out, promotional posters lining the front, and there’s a stack of sharpies on the table. Boyd’s standing at the front of the line, ignoring the pleas from teenagers to let them get a little closer, and all that’s missing is Jackson. Derek will punch him if he doesn’t get out here soon.

Allison’s playing L7 over the store’s sound system as Jackson walks out, and it’s almost enough to make Derek ignore the screams in reaction to Jackson’s mere presence. Almost. Derek takes in Jackson’s smug grin, and his dismissive wave to the crowd and rolls his eyes, walking down the line to make sure none of Jackson’s fans decide now is a good time for them to start fainting. Derek has no desire to call an ambulance for anyone today.

*

Towards the end of Jackson’s signing there’s a commotion by the counter; Allison’s making a noise Derek’s never heard her make before and flinging her arms around Scott who startles, taking a step backwards before hugging her tightly.

“Dude!” Scott yells across the store at Derek. “She loves me too!”

Derek tries to stay cynical, really he does, but Allison is beaming as Scott kisses her on the cheek, and Derek — he’s glad his staff can find happiness even amidst the store closing. Nodding in acknowledgement, Derek turns back to the line, smothering a laugh when he sees how irritated Jackson is by attention being taken away from him.

There’s only a few more people waiting, so Derek calls Isaac over and has him take his place as he heads towards the back room. When Derek steps through the doors, he pauses and raises an eyebrow at the amount of equipment in the room.

“Derek, hey.” Stiles stumbles off the edge of the couch and scoots over to him. “Is Jackson almost done?”

“Uh, yes? What’s going on?”

“TV interview with Jackson, remember?” Stiles says, ducking his head to whisper in Derek’s ear. “You might want to go into your office if you want plausible deniability for what I’m going to do.”

Suppressing a shiver at Stiles’ breath on his skin, Derek sighs. “Really?”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

Turning his head towards Stiles, Derek bites his lip at the closeness before narrowing his eyes at him. “You’re not going to kill Jackson on a live broadcast are you?”

“Not that that isn’t tempting, but no, I promise there won’t be any violence. Unless Jackson hits me. Which he might.”

“If he does,” Derek says, taking a step back. “I’ll hit him.”

“It’s so cute when you become my knight in shining armour,” Stiles says, tapping his fingers on Derek’s arm and making a mock kissy face at him. “I’ll be okay. You go and hide in your office.”

Pulling his arm away from Stiles, Derek gives him a quick smile and walks away, closing the office door behind him. Sitting back in his chair, Derek stares out of the small window in his office at the water behind the store. When he was younger, if he wanted a break from the store, he’d head outside and sit at the end of the unused dock, dangling his feet over the edge; sometimes his dad would join him for lunch, picking up pizza from Sal’s down the block, and they’d sit in silence, watching the water ripple. Derek hasn’t done that in a long time. He hopes he’s going to get a chance to do it again.

There’s noise coming from outside, and Derek tries to block it out, not wanting to hear Jackson blowing a bunch of smoke up people’s asses. After a moment, the noise gets louder and Derek frowns, dropping his feet on the floor and walking over to the door. He opens it just in time to see Jackson’s fist colliding with Stiles’ jaw.

Without realising what he’s doing, Derek races over and yanks Jackson back by the collar of his shirt. Ignoring the choking noises Jackson makes, he throws him out of the door Erica is holding open. Jackson falls to the ground, his sunglasses snapping underneath his hand as he struggles to get up.

“Don’t come back here Jackson,” Derek says, folding his arms over his chest. “Ever.”

“Like I’d want to,” Jackson sneers, his hand pressed against his throat as he sits there, glaring at them all.

Rolling his eyes at Jackson’s impotent anger, Derek slams the door shut and turns back to the room. The television cameras are still there, one interviewer talking to Stiles, and Derek moves towards Boyd, nudging him with an elbow. “What happened?” he asks quietly.

“Stiles interrupted Jackson’s interview and announced a fundraiser to save the store. Jackson got a little irritated, and you walked in on the results of Stiles insulting Jackson.”

“But why are the television cameras still here?”

“Because Stiles is a really good talker.”

Derek shakes his head, watching Stiles talk about the store. He talks so eloquently about the history of Hale Sounds, somehow managing to make Derek hiring them all sound like helping them find purpose in life. It’s incredible listening to Stiles put into words how much he loves the store; Derek’s always known that Stiles likes working here, that all of them do, but he’s never really realised what the place meant to everyone.

“So,” the interviewer says, looking at the camera. “If you want to help save a local business from being taken over, then come on down to Hale Sounds at 8 this evening and bring your wallet!”

The cameraman lets them know when they’ve stopped broadcasting and Derek immediately makes his way over to Stiles, grabbing him by the hand and hauling him off the couch.

“What — Derek? I —”

Derek ignores Stiles’ protests and walks them both to the office. When they get inside, Derek closes the door and lets go of Stiles’ hand, perching on the edge of his desk. “What are you doing?”

Stiles takes a few steps closer and stands there silently, his eyes flitting over Derek’s face. “I’m trying to save the store,” he says with a shrug. “I told you I had an idea.”

“Yes, but —” Derek breaks off and reaches out, touching Stiles’ hand.

“The band are going to play, we’re going to sell beer, Allison’s going to sell some art.” Stiles links their fingers together and squeezes, his other hand touching Derek’s face carefully. “It’s going to be great.”

“Permits,” Derek says, his voice hoarse as he tilts his head towards Stiles’ touch. “We, uh, need permits.”

“It’s like you’re forgetting what my dad does, and who Lydia’s dad is,” Stiles says with a smile, dropping Derek’s hand and moving closer until he’s standing between Derek’s legs. “Permits are taken care of, and even if they weren’t, we’d be doing this anyway. The store is worth it. You’re worth it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says quietly, resting his hands on Stiles’ hips. “This is ridiculous.”

“I’m saving this store. What other job would let me blare Soundgarden at nine in the morning without someone yelling at me?”

“I yell at you sometimes.”

“You bicker with me, there’s a difference.”

Stiles’ hands come to touch Derek’s shoulders, his fingers rubbing against the collar of Derek’s shirt, and for a moment Derek doesn’t know what to do — he stares at Stiles and licks his lips. “Are we doing this?”

“Saving the store? Well I kind of thought that’s where —”

“Stiles —”

“Kidding.” Stiles smiles, stroking the back of Derek’s neck with his fingers. “I know what you meant.”

“And?”

There’s no verbal response from Stiles, he just leans in and presses his lips against Derek’s mouth in a soft kiss. Derek’s eyes are open and he can’t stop staring at Stiles when he pulls away.

“Ouch,” Stiles says quietly, wincing as he touches his split lip. “Possibly not my brightest idea.”

“I thought it was a pretty good idea, personally,” Derek says, lightly pressing his fingers against the small of Stiles’ back.

“I don’t see you bleeding.”

“Well if you will mouth off to Jackson —”

“Hey! I was helping to save _your_ store —”

“Thank you, Stiles,” Derek interrupts, kissing the corner of Stiles’ mouth in an attempt to avoid his split lip.

Stiles smiles and ducks his head, peering up at Derek from underneath his eyelashes and Derek’s blindsided by how much he wants to kiss him again, wants to turn around and push Stiles up against the desk, tug his pants down and get his mouth around Stiles’ cock. There’s a sudden knock at the door that drags him out of his thoughts and Derek blinks, looking behind Stiles. “What? What is it?”

“Uh, does everyone have their clothes on?” Scott asks, peeking his head around the door with his eyes closed. “I don’t want to see anyone’s dick.”

“Jesus, Scott, yes, we’re fully dressed,” Stiles replies, exchanging an amused look with Derek. “Not all of us bang in the bathroom.”

“I didn’t bang Allison in the bathroom,” Scott protests, his eyes opening. “Look, everyone wants to know what they should be doing, so we kind of need you both out here.”

“Please tell me someone is out there on the counter,” Derek says, glaring at Scott.

“Erica’s on it,” Scott reassures him before he closes the door behind him.

“So,” Stiles says, raising his eyebrows at Derek and kissing his cheek. “Want to go and save your store?”

*

Derek helps Boyd get the amps on the overhang in front of the Hale Sounds sign and steps close to the edge, looking down at the sidewalk, watching people going in and out of the store.

“You good?” Boyd asks as he joins him. As he looks down, he waves at Erica and shakes his head in resignation when she flips him off.

“Better than you, apparently,” Derek says, slightly amused at Boyd’s reaction.

“We’re —” Boyd shrugs, still looking down at the sidewalk. He sticks his hands in his pockets and takes a few steps back. “It’s been rough lately.”

“Why?”

“She wants to move in.”

“So?”

“So I live in a crappy studio apartment with one bed and barely enough room for my guitars,” Boyd says, looking over at Derek. “That’s no place for her. She deserves better.”

“You think Erica cares about that?” Derek asks, walking back towards the amps and fiddling with the power supply, making sure they won’t accidentally start a fire on the roof when the band starts playing.

“ _I_ care about that.”

“But all she’s hearing is that you don’t want to live with her.”

“That’s... weirdly good advice coming from you.”

“Thanks,” Derek says, standing up and glaring at Boyd. “I do have some experience in life.”

“Dude, I know about your love life pre-Stiles.”

“And we’re done with this conversation.” Derek leans against the wall and looks up at the Hale Sounds sign all lit up. “Are you and Erica going to be okay?”

“I got her to agree to perform tonight,” Boyd says, picking up a bottle of water and taking a swig before passing it to Derek. “That’s progress.”

“You’ve got low expectations, my friend,” Derek says, clapping Boyd on the shoulder. “You’ve been working with me too long.”

Boyd laughs, taking the water back and looking up at the sign before looking back at Derek with a smile. “If all this works out, hopefully I’ll be working with you a little longer.”

“Stiles and his plans.”

“This one seems pretty good.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, pushing himself off the wall. “It does.”

*

Spotting Stiles across the shop floor, Derek heads over to where he’s hovering in the Sixties section. Touching Stiles on the waist, Derek kisses the back of his neck. “Hey.”

“The equipment all set up?” Stiles asks when he turns around.

“Yeah. You haven’t put anything on your lip.”

“Are you suggesting you know something that could go on my lip?”

“How did you make that dirty?” Derek asks, gently touching the slight graze on Stiles’ face. “Did you get this cleaned up?”

“I put some water on it and got out the Jackson cooties,” Stiles says with a smirk. “You worry too much.”

“You got punched in the face.”

“And I’m fine. We ordered the kegs in Peter’s name, by the way.”

Derek groans and rubs a hand over his face. “You did what?”

“He won’t even notice.” Stiles grabs Derek’s hand, pulling it down, and then he presses his fingers at the corner of Derek’s mouth for a moment. “This is going to work out.”

“If it doesn’t —”

“It will,” Stiles says, dropping his fingers and smiling at Derek softly.

Derek nods, leaning in and kissing Stiles softly, taking care not to reopen Stiles’ split lip. When he pulls away, Stiles’ eyes are closed, and his mouth is slightly parted; Derek touches Stiles’ bottom lip with his thumb, sliding over the cut. “When that’s healed,” he says quietly. “I’m going to kiss you properly.”

“Why do you have to wait until it’s healed?” Stiles asks as he opens his eyes.

“Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Stiles’ cheeks flush, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a small smile. “Want to help me get Allison’s artwork outside?”

“Shouldn’t Scott be doing that?”

“Scott’s working the counter,” Stiles says, threading his fingers through Derek’s and pulling him through the back exit of the store. “Besides, you may as well put those muscles to use.”

Derek’s brow furrows, even as he follows Stiles outside. “So that’s why you want me,” he says half seriously, and hating himself for even kind of believing it.

“What?” Stiles pauses by a painting of Layne Staley and turns to look at Derek. “Don’t be ridiculous. Derek, I —” he exhales heavily and puts his hands on his hips. “Do you really think I’m that shallow? That in the years I’ve been working here I haven’t noticed how kind you are? How funny you are? I know that when Isaac got kicked out, you let him stay with you and called in favours so he’d have a place to live. Whenever Boyd and Erica argue, you’re the one who makes sure it doesn’t last too long. Scott’s music taste annoys the shit out of you, but you hooked him up with Primus tickets the last time they were in town. You — you created a family here.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that; Stiles is standing there, his eyes wide, the cut on his lip opened again and — Derek fumbles in his pants pocket for a tissue and comes up empty. Rolling his sleeve over his hand, he dabs the fabric against Stiles’ lip, his other hand cradling Stiles’ face. “Okay,” he says, a shaky breath escaping as he touches Stiles. “Okay.”

“You’re getting blood on your shirt,” Stiles says, one hand coming up to wrap around Derek’s wrist, his eyes travelling over Derek’s face.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For implying you’re shallow. For taking so long to —”

“Don’t apologise for that. The shallow thing, okay, but don’t apologise for not doing this sooner.” Stiles squeezes Derek’s arm and turns his head, kissing the palm of Derek’s hand. “We’re good. Now, come on, we have to move these paintings.”

*

When they get the paintings outside, Lydia shoos them away so she can price them up before people start arriving. Isaac, Scott, and Boyd haul the kegs around to the back room, and Stiles sits on the floor, making starter packs for different genres of music.

Getting behind the counter, Derek taps Erica on the shoulder. “Go and talk to Boyd,” he says, gently pushing her aside. “I’ll take over.”

“You hate working with people,” she says, reluctantly handing over a customer's purchases to him.

“I don’t, and you need to talk to Boyd about the setlist.”

Erica rolls her eyes and steps back, rubbing her fingers against the tattoo on her wrist. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m working at my store,” Derek says, flashing her a smile over his shoulder. “Like I’m meant to.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Derek smothers a laugh as she walks off, muttering about interfering bosses loud enough for him to hear. “Hi,” he says to a waiting customer. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

Allison nudges him with an elbow as he rings up the CDs. “It’s nice that you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make sure they don’t fall apart.”

“They have to perform tonight,” Derek says, packing up the CDs and handing them over to the customer. “I don’t think tonight will end well if one of them ends up tumbling off the front of the building because they’re arguing.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says, her nose wrinkling as she laughs. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“What secret?”

“That you’re a romantic.”

Derek stops what he’s doing and leans against the counter, fixing her with a glare. “Take that back.”

“Nope,” Allison says, beaming at him as she switches out the CDs and starts playing Stone Temple Pilots. “You get Boyd and Erica back together, you make moves on Stiles... hate to break it to you, Derek, but you’re a romantic.”

“Please stop saying that before Stiles overhears you.”

“You don’t want him expecting flowers and candy?”

Derek shrugs, fiddling with the stack of promo stickers by the register. “I don’t want to screw this up,” he admits. “It’s been a long time since I —”

“You don’t know the way Stiles looks at you, do you?” Allison interrupts quietly, tilting her head at him. “Because if you did, you’d know there’s no way you could screw this up.”

Her words reassure Derek more than he’ll admit. “Thanks,” he says absently, looking over at Stiles staring at a pile of 7 inch singles; his brow is furrowed as he sorts them into batches, and Derek can see his lips moving as he talks to himself. Reluctantly tearing his gaze away from Stiles, Derek looks through the glass panes at the front and sees Lydia outside pricing up Allison’s art; Isaac walks through the door balancing solo cups in his arms, and if Derek listens carefully he can hear the band tuning up on the roof.

“Hey.” Stiles’ voice breaks into his thoughts and Derek shakes his head, turning around to find Stiles laying out bags with writing scribbled on them in sharpie. “These are all done.”

“Take them out to Lydia for pricing and don’t argue with her.”

“Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Derek says, reaching over and trailing his fingers over the back of Stiles’ hand. “You would.”

Stiles grins at him, turning his hand over and gripping Derek’s fingers. “It’s like you’re suggesting I’m argumentative.”

“Stiles?”

“Yes?”

“Go. And then ask Scott and Isaac to bring the kegs to the front of the store, it’s almost time.”

“You nervous?”

“About how if this fails, I lose the one thing that still ties me to my parents?” Derek says in a rush. “No, not at all.”

Leaning in, Stiles kisses him firmly, squeezing Derek’s hand as he does. “I’m not going to let you lose this place,” Stiles says when he pulls away, his lips brushing against Derek’s mouth. “That’s not happening. Okay?”

Resting their foreheads together, Derek exhales slowly. “Okay.”

*

There’s a crowd forming by the time Derek manages to get outside. Lydia’s in the thick of it, selling Allison’s artwork and from what Derek can tell, she’s mediating a bidding war for a painting of Kurt Cobain; Isaac and Allison are inside working the counter; Boyd, Erica and the other band members are setting up on the roof, and Scott’s selling beer from the kegs.

Derek spots Stiles sitting on a chair with a bucket on a stool in front of him, a sign reading ‘give us your money’ taped to the bucket.

“You think this is going to work?” Derek asks, pointing at the sign.

“Take a look,” Stiles says, waving a hand at the bucket. “It’s been working so far.”

Derek does a double take at the amount of money in the bucket, and he raises an eyebrow at Stiles. “People just gave you all this?”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that people care about this store? That they care about you?”

Derek’s about to respond when there’s a noise from the roof, and Erica’s voice coming through the sound system.

“Hey, hello, so we’re all here to save Hale Sounds from becoming a fucking Music Town —” Erica’s cut off by loud boos from the crowd and she laughs, her hand curling around the neck of her guitar. “Okay, so you all agree, awesome. Dig into your pockets, give us your beer money, help us save this place because, honestly? Some of us would be on the streets without this store, and without Derek, so help us save our home.”

Derek’s face flushes as the band starts playing, and he wants nothing more than to run inside the store and hide in his office; he probably would if Stiles didn’t latch on to his arm and kiss his neck. Strangers slap his shoulder as they drop money into Stiles’ bucket, telling Derek that they remember his parents, that the store is important. They have so many stories and it’s overwhelming to be reminded of these things; of how his parents were part of the community; that the community still cares about the store.

“Peter’s here,” Stiles says quietly, clutching the tub of money in his arms. “Over there, creeping on Lydia.”

“Fuck,” Derek mutters, rubbing the tips of his fingers against his temples. “Take all the money indoors, grab Lydia and get me a total so far.” There’s a quick, reassuring brush of lips against his cheek from Stiles and then he’s gone.

“What on earth is going on here,” are the first words Peter says to Derek after he reluctantly approaches him. It’s not even phrased as a question, and Derek internally sighs, wondering yet again what his parents were thinking when they let Peter join them in ownership.

“Saving the store my parents built,” Derek says, meeting Peter’s glare head on. “Like they would want me to.”

“Really. All I see is someone standing in the way of progress. My progress.”

“It’s a shame you see it that way, Uncle Peter.”

Peter glares at one of the dancing kids as they spill beer on his shoes, and Derek hides a laugh. “I see it as getting what I want,” Peter says.

“Which is?”

“Away from this town, away from this store.”

“Then let me buy the store from you,” Derek says carefully, walking towards the store, sure that Peter will follow him.

“You?”

“It did belong to my parents, and I enjoy being here more than you ever would.”

“That’s true,” Peter responds as they walk through to the back room. His eyes travel over Lydia and Stiles, and he smirks. “Though there are obvious benefits to working here.”

“I’ll remove your balls with blunt scissors if you look at me again,” Lydia says without looking up from counting the money they’ve raised.

“Is there enough there?” Derek asks as he sits on the couch next to Stiles, the warmth radiating off his body and soothing Derek’s frayed nerves.

“Yeah,” Lydia says with a satisfied nod, finishing noting the total down. “There’s enough.”

“We did it,” Derek says disbelievingly, staring at the numbers. “We — _how_?”

“Because I’m awesome,” Stiles says, leaning back on the couch with bills covering his lap. Tilting his head up to look at Peter, Stiles smirks at him. “So, creepy Pete, this good enough for you?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“If the shoe fits —” Stiles is cut off by Scott running in and heading straight to the bathroom. Derek winces at the puking noises that follow.

Rolling his eyes, Peter eyes the money on Stiles’ lap. “You look like a cheap stripper.”

“Hey! If I were a stripper, I’d be very expensive. Wouldn’t I, Derek?”

Derek really doesn’t know how he gets dragged into conversations like this. “Peter, stop harassing my staff and —”

“Is that all Stiles is to you?” Peter interjects.

“That’s none of your business,” Derek says as Stiles shuffles around next to him, gathering up the cash. “Are you going to let me buy the store or not?”

It’s an agonising wait for Peter to make his mind up; Derek knew he’d drag it out, and he guesses that he should be grateful Peter isn’t walking off to take even longer to decide, but it still seems like it’s taking forever.

“Yes,” Peter says, finally. “I don’t want this place. You can have it.” He looks dismissively over the piles of cash Stiles and Lydia have been piling up and waves a hand. “For whatever that comes to. I expect paperwork by the end of next week.”

Lydia looks up with a vicious smile and nods. “You’ll have it by end of business Monday.”

“Well, if that’s all, I’m going to go and throw these shoes out. Good luck, Derek.” With that, Peter walks out of the back room, pushing kids out of his way on the shop floor in an effort to get to the door.

Derek doesn’t know what to do, what words to come up with. All he can do is stare into space. It’s his. The entire store, all the responsibility, all the work. Everything his parents spent their time building. It’s all his.

“Derek?” Stiles touches his shoulder tentatively, fingers stroking up the side of his neck. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek says eventually, his voice hoarse. “I’m — yeah.” He turns to face Stiles, heart racing as he looks at him. “It’s mine.”

“It is,” Stiles says, beaming at Derek. “It’s all yours.”

“Fuck.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose and laughs. “Not in front of Lydia.”

Derek tries to glare at Stiles, but his face feels like it won’t make any expression other than shock, so he leans over and kisses Stiles instead. A startled noise slips out of Stiles’ mouth, and Derek takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss; he doesn’t want to hurt Stiles’ split lip, but he needs this moment to ground him, to bring him back to reality.

“What was that for?” Stiles asks when Derek pulls away, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

“And,” Lydia interjects, getting off the couch. “Is there a reason you had to do it with me still on the couch?”

“You saved the store,” Derek says, ignoring Lydia’s reaction in favour of grabbing Stiles’ hand and lacing their fingers together.

“So that gets me kisses? What else gets me kisses?” Stiles moves Derek’s arm until he’s curled up underneath it, his head resting on Derek’s chest. “How long can I dine out on saving the store?”

“Stiles —”

Lydia waves a hand between their faces and sighs when Derek looks at her. “I need the new combination to the safe.”

“No,” Derek says flatly.

“This money needs to go somewhere and the bank’s closed.”

“Okay.” Derek detangles himself from Stiles, gets up and takes the first batch of money from her. “I’ll put it in the safe.”

“Are you ever going to trust me again?”

“Help Scott clean the bathroom and we’ll see.”

“Derek!” Lydia exclaims. “There’s — do you _know_ how much Scott pukes after he’s been drinking?!”

Pausing in the entrance to his office, Derek turns around. “I do,” he says with a smirk. “You’re gonna need the bucket and a mop.”

*

“So,” Erica says, leaning against Boyd, a beer dangling from her hand. “What do we do now?”

Derek looks up from stroking his fingers through Stiles’ hair and shrugs. “What do you mean?”

“Is anything going to change? Are you suddenly going to become a hardass?”

“Derek’s got a perfect ass,” Stiles mumbles, pushing his head up into the touch of Derek’s hand. “No one gets it but me.”

“No one wants it but you, Stiles,” Erica says, making a face and swigging from her beer.

“Nothing’s going to change,” Derek says, fighting the blush on his neck and pressing his fingers against Stiles’ skull. “I’m going to have more work to do, but the store will stay the same.”

“Can I go home before I puke again?” Scott asks from his position flat on the floor, his cheek against the carpet. “I swear I’ll be in for my shift tomorrow.”

Derek snorts, looking back down at Stiles. His eyes are closed, and Derek can tell he’s close to drifting off. “Yeah,” he says, looking back up at everyone. “You can all go home. I’ll close up. And, uh, thanks. For the store.”

“Don’t strain yourself, Derek,” Boyd says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We know you care. We’ll unload the gear off the roof tomorrow, okay?”

Erica and Boyd head out together, which Derek is pleased to see. Lydia follows after them, and as long as she’s not going to lose any more of his money, Derek doesn’t really want to know what she’s going to do now. Isaac bends down and helps Scott off the floor, Allison sympathetically rubbing Scott’s back, and then Derek’s left alone with a dozing Stiles on his lap.

“Everyone gone?” Stiles asks, his eyes still closed and his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Stiles says, opening his eyes and looking up at Derek, waggling his eyebrows at him. “You’ve saved your store and got a boyfriend all in one day. What’re you going to do tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, I’m taking the morning off.” Derek runs the tip of a finger down Stiles’ nose, dragging it down over Stiles’ lips. “Because tonight you’re coming home with me.”

“I have a shift tomorrow.”

“I’ll get Allison to cover it.”

“Isn’t that abusing your ownership powers?”

Derek presses his thumb against Stiles’ bottom lip, avoiding the cut, and grins down at him. “Do you care?”

“Your place or — wait, I have roommates, your place.”

“You do realise we’ll have to move?”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“I’m pretty sure Lydia’s pulling together some papers that say otherwise.”

“Ugh, you suck.”

Derek smirks at the easy joke, and is about to make it when Stiles reaches up and covers his mouth with one hand.

“Don’t make the joke,” Stiles says shaking his head. “Please don’t make the joke.”

Grabbing Stiles’ hand and pulling it away from his mouth, Derek laces their fingers together and squeezes. “I won’t make the joke if you get off the couch so we can go home.”

“Home?”

“My place,” Derek says quickly, feeling his cheeks heat up at the implication he’s just made. “Back to my place.”

*

They’re barely through Derek’s front door before Stiles’ is practically climbing him and it’s all Derek can do to keep them both upright while they kiss; he’s got Stiles pressed up against the wall, one hand grasping at Stiles’ ass as he tries to get them as close as possible.

“Bed?” Stiles’ voice is low, his mouth hardly parting from Derek’s lips. “There’s a bed somewhere, right?”

“Uh huh,” Derek responds dumbly, ducking his head and licking a stripe up Stiles’ neck. “There’s a bed.”

“What’re we waiting for?”

“Can’t walk with you wrapped around me,” Derek points out, his teeth resting against Stiles’ jaw for a moment before he presses soft kisses against Stiles’ slick mouth.

“Coward,” Stiles says with a small smile, dropping his legs to the floor. “But I wouldn’t want you to put your back out.”

“Are you calling me old?” Sliding a hand up underneath Stiles’ shirt, Derek presses the tips of his fingers against Stiles’ skin and raises his eyebrows at him. “Because that’s not going to help you get laid.”

Stiles laughs, his mouth quickly brushing against Derek’s cheek. “I would never,” he says, taking Derek’s free hand and squeezing it. “A bed?”

Derek moves his hand from Stiles’ back and points in the vague direction of his bedroom; when Stiles starts moving, Derek follows close behind, pressing kisses against Stiles’ neck, running his hands down Stiles’ arms, moving around to cup his ass.

“I thought you wanted to get to a bed?”

“You want me to _stop_ touching your ass?” Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ middle and runs a hand down until he grazes his palm over the bulge in Stiles’ pants. “Or do you want me to be touching somewhere else?”

“What I want is for this not to end with hand jobs and carpet burn,” Stiles says, catching Derek by the wrist and kicking the door to Derek’s bedroom open. “Save that for next time.”

Derek reluctantly lets go of Stiles and walks around him, sitting on the end of his bed; he toes off his shoes, tugs his socks off and looks at Stiles expectantly. “You’re wearing too many layers.”

“So fucking bossy,” Stiles snarks as he strips his plaid shirt off and stands there in his t shirt and jeans. “Good enough?”

“You’ll do,” Derek says with a grin, reaching out and grabbing Stiles’ t shirt, tugging until Stiles takes a few steps forward and then he’s standing between Derek’s legs, looking down at him.

“I’ll do?”

“Yeah.” Derek pushes up Stiles’ t shirt, kissing his stomach, swirling his tongue over Stiles’ navel. “You’ll do.”

“How flattering.”

Stiles’ fingers are running through Derek’s hair, pressing down on Derek’s skull every so often, and it starts releasing all the tension of the day. When he woke up this morning, Derek didn’t expect to end the day like this; sitting on the edge of his messy bed with Stiles touching him so tenderly. Sliding his hands underneath the back of Stiles’ shirt, Derek ducks his head and kisses above Stiles’ waistband. “Want me to go lower?”

“I —” Stiles grips a handful of Derek’s hair and pulls him back, looking him dead in the eyes. “Not yet.”

“What do you want?”

“Less clothing?”

Derek chuckles, letting go of Stiles and waving a hand at him. “Go on then.”

“You too,” Stiles says, folding his arms over his chest. “Both of us.”

Derek stands up, and Stiles doesn’t step back, so there’s barely room for Derek to strip off his tops without bashing Stiles with an elbow. Dropping them on the floor, Derek keeps an eye on Stiles as he undresses; watching how Stiles’ jeans pool around his ankle for a moment before he steps out of them and kicks them to the side; how he fiddles with the waistband of his boxers and looks over at Derek before shrugging and pushing them down. Derek glances down to look at Stiles’ cock and he pauses, his hands stilling on his zipper.

“Distracted?” Stiles asks as he stands there, his cock half hard, and his hands covering Derek’s. “You seem to have stopped.”

“Shut up.” Derek’s cheeks flush and he finishes getting undressed, trying not to feel too smug when Stiles looks down between them and sucks in a breath. “Now who’s distracted?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek and places his hands on Derek’s chest, pushing him backwards until Derek is sitting down. “You’re a tease.”

“No I’m not,” Derek says, his eyes following Stiles’ movements. He scoots up the bed and lays back, raising his eyebrows at Stiles. “Are you?”

“Fuck no.” Stiles clambers onto the bed enthusiastically, and then he’s covering Derek, kissing him softly.

Derek runs his hands up and down Stiles’ body, squeezing his ass firmly, smiling when Stiles starts laughing. “What?” Derek asks quietly, kissing Stiles on the nose.

“Didn’t realise you’d be this obsessed with my ass.”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek says, gently butting his head against Stiles’ forehead. “I’m not obsessed with your ass.”

“You’ve got a pretty tight grip on it.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, swipes his tongue across Stiles’ bottom lip, being careful of the cut, and kisses him again and again until Stiles is totally relaxed against him. “Maybe I don’t want you forgetting that it’s mine,” he says between kisses.

“That’s possessive,” Stiles says, tilting his head back. He narrows his eyes at Derek, and for a few horrible seconds Derek thinks this is it, that Stiles is going to leave and not look back, but then Stiles grins and kisses Derek firmly. “I like it.”

Derek loosens his grip on Stiles’ ass and runs his hands up and down Stiles’ back as Stiles presses his mouth against Derek’s neck. There’s a graze of teeth and Derek shivers underneath it. “Are you trying to give me hickies?”

“You’re not the only one who can be possessive,” Stiles says in between sucking marks on Derek’s skin.

“Everyone at the — _oh_ — store is going to see them.”

“So?”

“So how am I meant to be their boss when they’ll be laughing at me?”

Stiles stops, pushing himself up on his hands to stare down at Derek. “Do you not want this?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why do you care what everyone else is going to think?”

Derek studies Stiles’ face, taking in the softness of his mouth and the steady determination in his eyes; acquiescing, Derek wrap his arms around Stiles, rolling them over until he’s covering Stiles’ body with his own. “I don’t care,” he says quietly, gently rocking his hips, smiling softly when Stiles lets out a groan. “You can mark me up all you want.”

“But?”

“But first I’m going to blow you.” Derek doesn’t give Stiles a chance to respond, sliding down his body and settling between Stiles’ legs. Holding Stiles’ cock with one hand, Derek strokes it a few times before lowering his mouth and licking around the head. Stiles whines, his hips jerking up almost automatically and Derek rears back a little.

“Sorry,” Stiles says, reaching down and stroking a hand over Derek’s head. “Didn’t mean to —”

“Don’t apologise.” Derek drags his mouth up the underside of Stiles’ cock, darting his tongue out occasionally, gratified when Stiles’ fingers grab at his hair in response. “I want you to enjoy this.”

“I _really_ don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Glancing up for a moment, Derek feels his own cock throb as he watches Stiles’ mouth fall open, his neck stretched out as his head rests on the pillow. Not wanting to come before he gets a chance to get inside Stiles, Derek tears his gaze away and gets back to Stiles’ cock. It’s been too long since he’s had the weight of a cock in his mouth, and the fact that it’s _Stiles_ makes it even better. Derek’s wanted him for so long, and now he’s got him in his bed; has his pre-come spilling on his tongue; his moans swirling around the bedroom, and it’s better than Derek ever could’ve imagined.

Stiles squirms on the bed as Derek takes more of him into his mouth, his hand wrapped around the base of Stiles’ cock. He makes it sloppy and wet, spit sliding down Stiles’ cock as he goes; whenever Stiles’ hips jerk, pre-come hits the back of Derek’s throat, and Derek loves knowing that Stiles is losing control because of him.

It doesn’t take long before Stiles’ breathing is ragged, Derek’s name spilling from his lips, his hand tugging at Derek’s hair. “Gonna — soon —” he stutters out, and Derek keeps going, trying to use every trick in the book to get Stiles to come.

Derek pulls off and wraps his hand around Stiles’ cock, stroking him firmly, wanting to see Stiles’ face when he makes him come. He keeps his eyes on Stiles as he jerks him off with a steady hand; Stiles’ face is sweaty, his head thrown back on Derek’s pillow exposing the length of his neck. Stiles keeps sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, unheeding of the cut, and the sight makes Derek’s cock twitch; Derek tries to ignore that, instead he presses his thumb just under the head of Stiles’ cock, and then Stiles is coming beautifully, a loud groan echoing in the room.

Wiping his hands on the covers, Derek crawls up the bed, kissing Stiles’ slack mouth until Stiles starts kissing back. He seeks out Stiles’ hand to hold and grins against Stiles’ mouth when Stiles grips his hand tightly.

“What’re you smiling about?” Stiles mumbles, swiping his tongue over Derek’s lips.

“You.”

“Fucking sap.”

Derek snorts, kissing Stiles one more time before crawling off him and sitting up so he’s able to reach into his bedside table.

“Hey, why’d you go over there?”

Turning back to Stiles, Derek raises an eyebrow at the sight of him. His hair is sticking up in all directions, his skin flushed, and there’s drops of come in the hair leading down to his softening cock. He looks fucking edible. Derek holds up his hand, displaying the lube and condom to Stiles. “Figured we’d need these.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, his eyes widening. “You —”

“You can say no.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. Just — it’s been a while.”

Putting the supplies on the pillow next to Stiles, Derek leans over him, kissing his forehead and the tip of his nose. “I’ll go slow,” he says, leaning back to look at him.

“Who said that’s what I want?”

“Remember when I said I didn’t want to hurt you? That goes for everything. Including this.”

Stiles looks Derek over and then nods, offering a small smile at him. “How do you want me?”

“Exactly how you are,” Derek says, sliding back on top of him, pressing his cock against Stiles’ body. Capturing Stiles’ mouth in a deep kiss, Derek flicks open the lube with one hand and pulls away to slick his fingers up. He makes his way between Stiles’ legs and gently pushes Stiles’ thighs apart. “Ready?”

“That better be the last time you say that,” Stiles replies, knocking his heel against Derek’s body.

Derek ignores him, pressing open mouthed kisses on the inside of Stiles’ thighs. Listening to Stiles’ intake of breath, Derek sucks a mark against Stiles’ skin. “Payback,” he says in a low voice when Stiles gasps out loud.

“Rude.”

“Careful,” Derek says, pressing his fingers against Stiles’ hole. “I could always _not_ fuck you.”

“I’d like to see you follow through on — oh _fuck_!”

Derek takes it slow, wanting to drag this out as long as he possibly can, enjoying the noises Stiles makes as he fucks him with his fingers. It’s been a long time since Derek’s had anyone in his bed that he cares about, someone he wants to take his time with, and Stiles is pretty much perfect; he pushes back against Derek’s fingers, smacking a hand against the bed when Derek adds a third finger.

Derek’s cock is heavy between his legs and he needs to get inside Stiles, needs to feel him around his cock, wants to know the sounds Stiles will make when he’s fucking him. He can’t wait any longer, so he pulls his fingers out, enjoying the whine from Stiles in response and he reaches for the condom, unwrapping it and rolling it on. Hitching Stiles’ legs up, Derek looks up and meets Stiles’ eyes, curling himself over Stiles and kissing him. “Good?” he asks, lining his cock up against Stiles’ hole. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, his mouth brushing over Derek’s lips, nose pressing against his cheek. “Fuck me.”

Derek almost stops breathing as he pushes inside Stiles, dropping his head against Stiles’ neck, breathing in his scent. He goes slow until he’s bottomed out, and then Derek pauses, feeling Stiles clench around his cock. “Fuck,” he breathes out, kissing Stiles’ neck, and then Stiles’ heels press against his ass impatiently.

Derek loves that Stiles doesn’t feel the need to use words, and he obeys the silent command, starting to fuck him slowly, rocking their bodies together until he feels Stiles’ cock start to get hard between them. He knows he could go fast, could fuck Stiles hard until they’re slamming the headboard against the wall, but that’s not how he wants this to be. From the noises Stiles is making, there’s no complaints from him; Derek’s sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities to make the headboard rattle in future. If he has his way, Derek’s never letting Stiles out of his bed again.

He pushes inside Stiles over and over and again, losing track of how long they’ve been fucking, only aware of the kisses Stiles places on him, the touch of Stiles’ hands against his skin. As he feels his orgasm build, Derek gives in to the urge to fuck Stiles harder, the slide of their sweaty skin sending sparks down his spine; he cradles a palm over Stiles’ head to stop it hitting the headboard with each thrust and Derek kisses him, gasping against Stiles’ mouth as he comes.

After a moment, Stiles taps him on the shoulder. “Leg cramp,” he whispers, brushing his lips against Derek’s temple.

Reluctantly straightening up, Derek carefully pulls out of Stiles and takes the condom off, disposing of it in the trash can by his bed. “You’re still hard,” he says, rubbing a hand down Stiles’ thigh. “Want me to do something about that?”

Stretching out his leg, Stiles winces and shakes his head. “I feel really fucking old.”

“I’m older than you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Derek massages Stiles’ thigh muscle and laughs a little. “That feeling any better?”

“I don’t know, go higher.”

“Thought you were in pain?” Derek asks, the tips of his fingers trailing along the crease of Stiles’ groin.

“Right now I’m only thinking about pleasure,” Stiles murmurs, his eyes closing as he settles back against the pillow.

“You look like you’re thinking about sleep,” Derek says, pausing in his movements and shifting so he’s laying next to Stiles. Nosing at Stiles’ temple, he rests his palm on Stiles’ chest, watching it rise and fall as Stiles breathes. “C’mon. We’ll have a shower. I’ll jerk you off and then we can go to sleep.”

“You don’t want me to go?”

“Why would I want you to go?”

Stiles opens his eyes and fixes them on Derek, bringing one hand up to cover Derek’s fingers. “We didn’t exactly talk before we —”

“I didn’t realise we needed to,” Derek says slowly. “I thought — do you think I’d risk fucking up our friendship for a quick fuck?”

“No, but —”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

Stiles nods, squeezing Derek’s hand once before letting go. Turning on his side, Stiles curls up against Derek, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. “So, you and me?”

“Sound okay?”

“Sounds amazing.”

*

“Someone got lucky last night,” are the first words out of Erica’s mouth when Derek and Stiles walk into the store, Stiles’ arm wrapped around Derek’s waist.

Derek ignores her and heads straight to the sound system to switch out whatever’s playing for Exile On Main Street. “It’s none of your business,” Derek says, leaning against the counter and looking over at Stiles.

“Like that doesn’t answer every question I could have,” Erica responds, winking at Stiles as she heads off towards the soul section.

“Is everyone going to gossip about our sex life?” Derek asks, dropping his head between his arms, almost hitting the counter.

“You’ve met our friends, right?” Stiles says, stepping forward and resting his hands against the counter next to Derek. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m screwed,” Derek says with a sigh. He lifts his head and quirks a smile at Stiles; reaching over, he rubs his thumb against the mark he left on Stiles’ neck that morning.

“Regretting it?”

“Not for a second,” Derek answers, his smile getting wider when Stiles leans in and kisses him.

“If both of you are done making me want to puke...” Lydia taps Derek on the shoulder and waits for him to pay attention. “I have some papers for you to sign.”

Reluctantly pulling away from Stiles, Derek takes the papers Lydia hands him. “That was fast,” he says, holding them in one hand, not quite believing what’s happening. Derek’s almost sure he’s going to wake up alone in his bed and this will have all been a dream.

“Standard transfer of ownership papers,” she shrugs. “It’s pretty simple.”

“Thanks, Lydia.”

“I’m glad I was able to fix what I did,” Lydia says, stepping down from the counter. “And that we all still have jobs.”

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s waist and kisses the back of his neck. “A few signatures and this’ll all be yours.”

“It was already mine,” Derek says, relaxing back in Stiles’ embrace and covering Stiles’ hands with his own. The sound of The Rolling Stones echo through the store as they watch people shop, and Derek nods to himself in satisfaction. “It’s just coming home.”

The phone rings, and Derek leans across to pick it up, Stiles’ arms still wrapped around him. “Hale Sounds, open ‘til midnight, this is Derek.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://heroderekhale.tumblr.com)


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